


resist or control

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time, Flirting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 03:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: By the time Freddie gets back home that night, he’s exhausted but no less keyed up than he was at the bar. He feels shaky, off kilter as he gets ready for bed.He doesn’t understand the play here with Auston. He feels like he hasn’t for a while now, not since Auston deliberately cockblocked him this summer with no explanation, then proceeded to act like a child the second they got to Toronto.





	resist or control

**Author's Note:**

> This honestly took so long to write it's like, embarrassing, but done. Finally! I tried to keep the timeline as in line with the 2017-18 season as possible, and it drove me nuts. Anyways here it is, enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Never Gonna Leave This Bed by Maroon 5

Auston’s only in California a few days, staying with Freddie while he’s here. It’s nice, getting to spend time with Auston in a beautiful place without the attention and pressures of the season. 

They bike along the sand, and Freddie helps Auston re-tie his white bandana when it keeps coming loose in the wind. 

“This doesn’t make your forehead look any smaller, by the way,” Freddie says, pushing the loose strands of Auston’s hair back as he wraps the fabric around.

Auston squints up at him in the sun. “Fuck you,” he says breezily. “You’re just jealous of my style.”

They go to the beach and out to eat on rooftop decks, and Auston goads Freddie into buying him drinks everywhere they go. Freddie lets Auston snap infinite pictures until he’s got all the perfect shots for Instagram, and in exchange, Auston lets Freddie laugh at him for being scared of the ocean without hitting him back. Things are good.

On Auston’s last night, they go out, and within minutes Auston’s disappeared into the crowd, presumably looking for girls to wheel already. It doesn’t bother Freddie, and he ends up dancing with a beautiful brunette, their bodies pressed close, touching everywhere. He likes the way she’s smaller than him, the way she lets him move her.

He leans in, slowly, and kisses her. It’s hot, and Freddie pulls her closer, already making plans to get out of there soon.

Abruptly, he feels an insistent hand on his shoulder, and hears a familiar voice saying his name.

“Freddie,” Auston yells over the noise of the music and the crowd. “I’m tired. Let’s go back.” He has a weird expression on his face. Maybe he doesn’t feel well.

Still, Freddie can’t help but be annoyed. The girl is still pressed to his chest, one hand on his hip. There’s no way he isn’t going home with her tonight. 

“You can head back first,” Freddie says, trying to turn away.

Auston shakes his head, and reaches out to tug at Freddie’s arm. 

“I don’t know how to get back.”

Bullshit. “I gave you the address. Scroll up in your messages,” Freddie says impatiently, pulling his arm back. 

“I’m too drunk to order an Uber,” Auston says, but his voice is flat. There’s no way he isn’t sober, or close to it. “You gotta come with.” 

“Auston,” Freddie says, growls almost. He can feel himself getting more irritated by the second, and tries to project that to Auston. The girl is clearly losing interest, looking around and swaying absently to the music. 

Auston doesn’t budge, instead tugging again at Freddie, on the sleeve of his shirt this time. 

“Come on,” he says, persistent. “Fred.”

“Fine, Jesus Christ, Auston. Give me one second.” He turns back to the girl, maybe to get her number or something, for when Auston isn’t there to ruin things anymore. But she’s gone, probably off to find someone else already.

“She left,” Auston points out, still right by Freddie’s side.

“Thanks,” Freddie snaps. “I hadn’t noticed. Let’s go.” He whips around, heading for the door without seeing if Auston is following behind him.

“You don’t have to yell at me,” Auston says, pouty and childish as they stand outside waiting for their Uber.

Freddie’s head is hurting. He takes a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and apologizing for something so little when Auston has just effectively and unapologetically ended his night for some bullshit and unknown reason feels like pulling teeth.

“It’s okay,” Auston says, and looks down at his shoes. 

Freddie makes them both chug water when they get back, because Auston’s a baby when he’s hungover, though Auston’s currently sober self doesn’t even need it, the fucking liar. 

“Why are you mad?” Auston is whining, pretty much, and also poking at Freddie’s bicep. “I didn’t even do anything.” 

“I’m not,” Freddie lies. Freddie’s never been mad at Auston before, but Auston’s also never been like _this_ before, what the fuck. There’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

Then he heads up the stairs before Auston can say anything further that can make him lose it for real. He goes to bed still angry, but hydrated.

——————

Freddie wakes the next morning when he feels the bed dip. It’s still fairly dark outside, the beginnings of light just starting to filter in.

He rolls over, blinking sleepily, confused. 

“Fred,” Auston says, crawling in next to him on top of the duvet. He’s not wearing a shirt, clearly having just gotten out of bed.

Freddie groans, forcing himself to sit up a little bit. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Auston says, settling on his stomach, face turned towards Freddie. “I just— I’m sorry.” 

“What,” Freddie says, sitting up fully and looking down at Auston. Auston looks guilty, and turns his face into the pillow under Freddie’s scrutiny.

“Sorry,” he says again, muffled this time, but he sounds like he means it. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“Oh,” Freddie says. His annoyance has mostly dissipated through the night, but it’s still nice to hear. 

“I just didn’t feel well,” Auston says. “I had too much to drink.”

Freddie rolls his eyes so hard he almost pulls something. If Auston still wants to go with that blatantly false excuse, it’s— like, whatever. He’s over it. They’re not gonna hash this out again. Auston’s face is still mashed into the pillow, so the full effect of Freddie’s reaction is lost, but.

“It’s fine,” Freddie says, instead of all the million jabs he could have made. 

“You sure?” Auston peeks an eye out, hopeful.

“Yes, Matts,” Freddie says. He turns over again, reaching for his phone. The time says 5 in the morning, and he groans.

“What the fuck, Auston,” Freddie says, sliding down and getting comfortable again. “This couldn’t wait till any time after 10?” 

“Sorry,” Auston apologizes again, but he doesn’t sound it at all this time. 

“Whatever. Go to sleep.” 

Freddie opens his eyes again when he feels a hand tugging at the edge of the duvet. 

“Let me get under too,” Auston says, pulling the blanket down and sliding in.

It takes him another minute or so to shift and get comfortable, tossing and turning and kicking his legs out and just generally being a menace. 

Freddie’s just falling asleep again when Auston speaks. Again.

“Freddie.”

“Holy shit, Matts. _What?_ ”

“I like to be spooned.”

Freddie’s going to murder him. 

“Okay, good for you,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Freddie.”

“What.”

“Come cuddle me,” Auston demands, as if he wasn’t the one that just crawled into Freddie’s bed at the crack of dawn uninvited. 

“Fine,” Freddie relents. Anything to shut him up, at this point. 

“Yay,” Auston cheers, and turns his back to Freddie so Freddie can slot in easily behind him, throwing an arm around him.

“Now to the fuck to sleep,” Freddie says. “If you say one more word, I’m gonna strangle you like this,” he threatens. 

Auston snorts, but Freddie can feel him relax in his arms anyway.

——————

Freddie sends Auston off to the airport with a loose hug, and Auston makes him promise to text. Freddie agrees, of course, as if it would be a problem with Auston so clearly not averse to double, triple, quadruple texting until he gets a response. 

Two weeks later, he’s in Boston for the Bauer athlete event, phone pinging with texts from Auston.

 _I’m here !_ Auston’s sent. _I’m coming up don’t go anywhere._

Sure enough, minutes later Auston’s dropping his bags and running down the hotel hallway at him, grinning as he jumps up onto Freddie with a whoop. 

Freddie staggers under his weight, but catches him anyway, lifting him with both hands under his thighs. 

“Fred!” Auston exclaims, and kicks his legs to be let down. Once he gets his feet on the ground, he grabs Freddie and hugs him properly. 

“Hey Auston,” Freddie replies, and Auston’s smile gets wider. 

“Did you miss me?” Auston asks. “I mean, of course you did. Who wouldn’t miss all of this?” He gestures to his outfit, a plain gray shirt, the classic ripped black jeans, and white Gucci sneakers. Basic, but it works. 

“It’s only been two weeks,” Freddie says.

“Compliment me anyway,” Auston says. “Tell me I look good.”

“You look good, Auston,” Freddie says dutifully. 

“Thank you.” Auston beams. 

They don’t have anything until the next day, so they’re all going to the Red Sox game tonight. For the next ten minutes or so, they wait in the lobby for Willie to show up, and Auston sends multiple mass snaps as they do. 

“Jack’s so bummed he’s not coming,” Auston says, when Freddie’s opened Auston’s 5th snap in a row from right next to him. “Noah’ll be there though. Fuck, I miss that guy.” 

“Hanifin?” Freddie asks. He knows Pastrnak is supposed to come too, since Willie’s been real excited about that. It’s gonna be weird, then, if he’s the only one without another buddy to shoot the shit with. Auston’s gets a Snap notification from “Hanny”. 

“Yeah,” Auston says. “That guy’s such a stud, huh?” 

Freddie’s not sure what he means there, whether on the ice, or off. From what he vaguely knows about Hanifin, he’s a pretty good looking guy, not that it should matter. He glances over, and Auston’s adjusting his hair, smoothing down the loose strands before taking a _really good_ selfie and hitting send. 

Freddie doesn’t know why he’s disappointed his phone doesn’t light up with a notification.

——————

If there was any worry things would be weird with Hanifin and Pastrnak there, it’s all mostly gone by the 7th inning. 

Auston doesn’t let him go more than thirty seconds without bothering him about _something_ , especially when Hanifin looks less than interested in indulging any of Auston’s antics _._

“Are you hungry?” Auston asks. “I’m hungry.”

“No,” Freddie says. “We’re all going out to dinner after this, aren’t we? We can wait.”

Freddie checks his phone at the top of the 8th, and suddenly his vision is obscured by Auston’s hand in front of his screen.

“What’s up,” he says, and Auston leans closer to him, away from Hanifin on his other side. 

“What are you looking at that’s more interesting than this game? It’s tied!” 

“Twitter,” Freddie says, locking his phone and tucking it into his pocket in one motion. “Mind your business.”

The game is still tied heading into the _12th,_ and Freddie’s seriously starting to get bored.

“I know so much about baseball,” Auston says suddenly, apropos of nothing, and Freddie hums. “Seriously. You can ask me anything.”

“I’ve been to baseball games before,” Freddie says. 

“Okay,” Auston says easily. “Just saying.”

Willie leans back in his seat. “Boys, should we go?” He asks, waving his phone around, gesturing at the time. It’s pretty late.

All the guys look around and shrug, and Freddie stands, making the executive decision. 

“Let’s go eat,” he says. “Auston’s been starving for hours.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Auston says emphatically, and gets up too. 

——————

Auston kicks at Freddie’s feet all through dinner, enough that by the end of it Freddie has to trap Auston’s feet between his own to save his ankles. 

He glares at Auston across the table.

“Stop it,” he mouths, but Auston just smirks, flexing his ankles against Freddie’s. 

“Freddie,” Auston says, when Willie’s just lost credit card roulette and is bemoaning about having to cover the bill. Auston, of course, made them order the most expensive wine they could get on the menu, and is on his way to wine drunk already. 

“I don’t wanna go out tonight,” he leans on Freddie when they stand, and does his best to manhandle Freddie’s arm until it’s wrapped around his shoulders.

Freddie laughs at him. “You’re already fucked up, so that’s probably a good idea. Let’s just go back,” he suggests. “Busy day tomorrow.” 

“‘Kay,” Auston agrees, and leans harder.

——————

They don’t get to see much of each other the next day at all, save for the ride over to the rink early in the morning where Auston sleeps against the window, resting on his wrist in a way that’s sure to fuck it up until Freddie reaches over and readjusts him. 

They get pushed into makeup chairs pretty much immediately, and Freddie’s pretty impressed at the way Auston sits patiently through the whole ordeal on the other side of the room. It’s certainly different from the Auston he’s used to. 

After seemingly endless hours of cameras being shoved in his face, Freddie’s finally allowed to get undressed and shower. 

“Good work today,” the producer tells him. Freddie shakes hands with Vasy before he heads out. He catches a ride with Willie and Laine, who’ve just finished as well, back to their hotel.

 _U back yet?_ Auston texts.

 _Just got back_ , he replies, swiping his keycard through the door.

There’s a knock a few moments later. When Freddie unlocks it, Auston’s there, in an old t-shirt and shorts already, barefoot. It’s barely 8, and Freddie blinks at him.

Auston pushes past him without an invitation, and flops unceremoniously onto Freddie’s bed, taking up as much space as he can. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Auston asks, already flipping through the channels and getting under the covers without asking.

“I think Willie and some of the guys wanted to go out,” Freddie says. 

“Oh. I’m tired,” Auston says. “We did a lot today.”

“Okay,” Freddie says, and sits on the empty side of the bed.

“Don’t go out tonight,” Auston says. “Let’s watch a movie.”

Freddie blinks at him again. He wants to go out. He wants to kick Auston out, find someone and bring them back here, and work out the rest of his energy and go the fuck to sleep. 

Auston looks over at him, eyes wide. 

“They have Captain America on demand.” He points to the TV, and Freddie glances over to see Chris Evans staring back at him. 

“Fine,” Freddie relents, and gets changed too.

They order room service and Freddie half listens as Auston rambles with his mouth full over the movie playing in the background, nodding when appropriate. 

Eventually, they’re both pretty much lying down, Auston’s breathing getting heavier even as he presses closer to Freddie. Auston slings an arm across his stomach, and rests his head on Freddie’s chest. Freddie looks down at his slack face, and briefly considers sending him back to his own room.

“‘M going to sleep,” Auston mumbles.

“Get off me,” Freddie says.

“No,” Auston replies, and pulls himself closer. 

Freddie doesn’t have the heart to kick him out at this point, so he turns off the TV, then reaches across Auston and switches off the light.

He sleeps like shit that night, Auston a furnace glued to his side the entire time. When his left arm starts to go numb, he turns, getting his other arm around Auston, and shifts so he’s on his side, and Auston can tuck his face against his chest. Auston sighs but doesn’t wake, and Freddie feels a brief puff of air against his collarbone. It’s pretty cute, he’ll admit.

——————

Auston comes to training camp looking a lot tanner and a lot bigger than he did two months ago. 

When Auston catches his eye from down the hall, Freddie can see the glint in it, and knows exactly what Auston’s about to do again.

“I’m not gonna catch you,” Freddie warns. Auston takes off running towards him.

Freddie catches him anyway, because he’s not gonna _drop Auston,_ as much as he wants to. Babs would kill him. 

“You’re even heavier than you were last time, get off,” Freddie says, letting Auston down. 

“That a compliment?” Auston asks, teasing. He flexes his arms exaggeratedly, waggling his eyebrows. 

Freddie snorts, and doesn’t dignify that with a response. 

——————

“Best of 5,” Auston says. “Loser buys lunch.”

“Sure,” Freddie says. “I’m pretty hungry today, hope you’ve got money.”

Auston narrows his eyes, and squirts his water bottle in Freddie’s face. 

And like, Freddie was probably just gonna take it easy anyway, since it’s just lunch. It’s not like Auston would eat him out of a house and home. But he lifts his mask, wiping water out of his eyes, and now he’s actually annoyed, and he’s going to win so he doesn’t end up kicking Auston’s ass later or something.

Auston tries to go five-hole on both his first shots, and Freddie stops those easily, batting the pucks to the corner and rolling his shoulders as he hops up from his butterfly.

“Oh it’s score or die now, Matts,” Mitch yells, the dramatic fucker. 

This time, Auston comes down Freddie’s left side, and Freddie skates out to challenge. As Auston gets close, Freddie zeroes in on the puck, and lunges forward for a pokecheck. He manages to catch the puck, but the follow through clips Auston’s skates too, and Auston goes sprawling a few feet out from the crease.

“FredEx wins!” Mitch crows, and skates over to catch him in a jumping celly. 

“What the fuck!” Auston cries from where he’s still on his back on the ice. “You cheated! You tripped me!”

“I got the puck first,” Freddie shrugs. “Incidental contact.”

“This isn’t fair,” Auston whines as Freddie turns to get his water bottle from the net. “You’re a cheater. Cheater, cheater, ch—”

It’s Freddie’s turn to spray Auston with water.

“ _Freddie,_ ” Auston splutters, and Mitch looks like he’s choking from laughing so hard.

“Get changed,” Freddie says. “I want sushi.”

He skates away smirking, leaving Mitch still doubled over, laughing at Auston on the ground.

——————

Of course, Auston is the world’s worst loser, and has decided to make this the most difficult meal of Freddie’s life in retaliation. 

It takes him twice as long as it usually does to get undressed. He fixes Freddie with a glare as he unties his skates impossibly slow, undoing every single lace. He takes a _twenty minute_ shower, then spends another ten combing his damp hair back in the mirror, over and over and over. By the time he’s pulled on his shoes, there’s no one but them left in the locker room. There hasn’t been for about 15 minutes, in fact.

Auston clicks through every single radio station on the 10 minute drive. Every. Single. One. Like, literally holds his finger on top of the button, and presses it, once every two seconds. _Click, click, click_. He keeps his eyes fixed on Freddie the entire time, like he’s waiting for a reaction.

Freddie grits his teeth through it all, grip tight on the steering wheel, breathing through his nose and resisting the urge to slap his hand away. Reacting would mean Auston wins, and that’s sure as shit not happening.

Mercifully, they get to the restaurant sooner rather than later. But Auston hops out of the car, leaving his door open like he’s five, so Freddie has to go around to the other side and shut it for him, which honestly agitates him more than the radio thing, for some reason.

Freddie can feel his annoyance building slowly, so he does his best to ignore Auston as they eat. But every time he looks down at his phone Auston sneaks a hand over and steals a piece of his sushi. Auston eats half of Freddie’s lunch before Freddie finally snaps. 

“Quit it,” Freddie says, the next time Auston reaches over. He hits Auston over the knuckles with his chopsticks. 

“Ow, motherfucker,” Auston swears loudly. People from other tables look over disdainfully, and Freddie sends them an apologetic look. 

Freddie hits him again, and when Auston scowls at him, he fixes him with a blank stare.

“What?” Auston demands, and kicks at Freddie’s shins.

Freddie doesn’t respond or retaliate, just stares him down. Auston swallows.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Auston says eventually, giving up and sitting back in his seat. 

Freddie drives him home after Auston covers the bill, not too expensive because Freddie isn’t an asshole like Auston. He parks outside Auston’s place.

“Good lunch?” Freddie asks, dry.

“Yes,” Auston says, and flashes Freddie a huge, bright smile. “I got what I wanted,” he says, and gets out of the car.

Freddie has no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but is kind of annoyed that his stomach flutters at the sight of Auston’s smile despite it all. 

——————

The season starts fast and eventfully, the team racking up wins faster than he can keep up. 

Freddie plays so many games people start asking if he thinks he’s gonna burn out. He shakes off those concerns. He wants to play. Starting more games is good. 

What isn’t good is how inconsistent his game’s been, for whatever reason. There’s nights he feels totally locked in, like nothing can go in. Then there’s others where he feels like he’s catching water, pucks slipping through his hands and through holes in his pads he didn’t even know were there. 

Thankfully, or not thankfully, he can always count on Auston to be a distraction. 

“It’s okay, Fred, you’re great. You’re money,” Auston always says. “But I’m gonna have to kick your ass at Fortnite right now, because you suck at it.”

So Auston plays XBox with him, comes over unannounced demanding dinner, and falls asleep on Freddie while watching Netflix so many times he’s starting to lose count. He sends an increasing number of memes, especially after a few tough games. Perhaps best, or worst, of all, he Snapchats Freddie more than ever, random pictures of his everyday life, and several unwarranted shirtless selfies daily. 

The selfies, though— they kind of make things worse, because every time Freddie sees one he gets weirdly flushed, and has to leave Auston on read while he wills face to stop doing whatever terrible, embarrassing thing it’s doing. 

Still, Auston helps, mostly. 

——————

 

It’s nearly November when Freddie notices it. Auston isn’t picking up, hasn’t for a while now.

It’s only fitting it’s in the midst of their California road trip that the realization hits him.

From across the dance floor, Auston tucks a strand of hair behind the ear of the girl he was dancing with, leaning in to whisper something. At first glance, it seems like he’s going to score. Then, Auston straightens up, and turns to look back at their table, where Freddie’s been nursing a beer with a couple of guys. Their eyes meet, and Auston raises an eyebrow at him, already making his way back.

“Struck out?” Freddie teases when Auston works his way into the spot next to him in the booth, already making grabby hands at Freddie for his drink.

Auston shrugs, leaning into Freddie with an outstretched arm.

Freddie moves his glass out of reach. “Order your own,” he says. 

“She was a sure thing,” Mitch says, graciously sliding Auston his own drink. Auston downs it quickly, grimacing as he swallows. “How’d you mess that one up, Matts?”

Auston shrugs again, settling back into his seat and pulling out his phone. He doesn’t look up, but Freddie can see him start scrolling through Instagram. He’s got hundreds of DMs in the top right corner, and he’s ignoring them all. He double taps a Fortnite meme.

“I wasn’t into it,” Auston says, waving a hand, all casual.

From across the table, Mo splutters in indignation. “Jesus Matty, she’s a solid 10, and you’re not _into it_?” He makes air quotes, as if to further highlight the absurdity of the situation. 

Auston rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever,” he tucks his phone into his pocket, and finishes the drink in front of him. Freddie looks over, and _shit_ , that was his beer, the sneaky bastard.

Auston smirks, clearly taking stock of Freddie’s disapproving look. He stands, tugging on his jacket, a little uncoordinated. “I’m heading back. Later guys.” 

Freddie sighs at his now empty glass, and follows suit deciding there’s no point in staying anyway. He trails after Auston amidst a chorus of goodbyes.

“Split an Uber?” Freddie asks.

“Sure,” Auston says, as the flash of the front camera goes off. Snapchat, then. “You call it.”

“You’re on your phone right now,” Freddie points out. Auston takes another selfie.

“ _Freddie,_ ” Auston insists. “Please, I’m busy.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, and unlocks his phone. 

When they get in the Uber, Auston spreads out comfortably, clearly a little wasted. He lets his phone rest loosely in his palm, Snapchat abandoned, and knocks his leg against Freddie’s, sprawled well into the middle seat.

“Hey,” Freddie says, flicking Auston’s knee. Auston presses it even closer. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“When’s the last time you picked up?” 

Since the start of the season, Freddie hasn’t seen Auston go home with anyone when they’ve gone out or on the road. More often than not, Freddie will watch as Auston gets way too drunk, dances horribly and unashamedly with some nameless girl, and end up hauling Auston’s ass home alone. It looks like one of those nights. 

“You got a girl or something?” Freddie asks, because god knows Auston would never have _trouble_ getting laid.

He doesn’t miss the way Auston tenses for the briefest of seconds, before his face smooths into that same faux casual look his tries to convince people is his resting face. Clearly he’s pretty out of it.

“No,” Auston says, and shifts so he can rest on Freddie instead. He leans his head on Freddie’s shoulder. He’s tempted to nudge Auston off, but Auston’s drunk. He’ll let him have this; the ride shouldn’t be much longer anyway.

The Uber hits a bump, and Auston reaches out, hand on Freddie’s forearm to steady himself. 

“Haven’t,” Auston mumbles, and turns his face into Freddie’s shirt. His hand moves off Freddie’s arm, and comes to rest on Freddie’s thigh instead. 

And that’s— it’s pretty much what Freddie suspected. What he noticed. But it’s still weird to hear it confirmed, to say the least. He wonders what’s going on. 

The car pulls to a stop in front of their hotel. Freddie jostles Auston gently to get him to sit up. 

“Thank you,” Freddie says to the driver, and follows Auston inside. 

“Drink water,” Freddie calls when they get up to their floor, and watches as Auston fumbles with his room key. 

“Fuck off,” Auston says, way too loud, and stumbles into his room, shutting the door with a bang. 

——————

He’s brushing his teeth that night, but he’s kind of still thinking about Auston, and whatever’s wrong with him and his dick.

Auston hadn’t picked up in California over the summer either, Freddie remembers, and had instead worked harder than ever to make sure Freddie didn’t either. Not in Boston, too busy taking up space in Freddie’s bed and stealing the covers to do any of that. And Freddie hadn’t heard about anything the rest of the summer, though Auston was never shy about sending paragraphs detailing his days spent golfing with friends. 

Not once, this season, so far. No date to the Halloween party, in which they both got really fucking hammered, and both woke up in Mo’s guest room with their shoes on.

Things have been weird since the summer, but Freddie’s never thought about it till now. _Auston’s_ been weird since the summer, more annoying, more needy, more touchy than he was last season, when he had started off a little bit shy until he realized how tolerant Freddie was. Especially when it came to Auston. So all these things, and not hooking up. Really fucking weird.

Well, it’s not like Freddie’s picked up this season, either, but that’s different. He’s busy— he’s got lots of stuff going on, like hockey, and… 

Freddie pauses, spitting into the sink. 

And he’s got Auston to take care of. 

That thought’s a little weird, too, so Freddie finishes rinsing, and heads to bed to jerk off before going to sleep. 

——————

The road trip is pretty shit, all things considered. 

They lose 3 of 4 games by one or two goals each, and Freddie feels like he’s going out of his mind by the time the 6th goal goes in against St. Louis. He sits next to Auston on the flight home, trying to resist the urge to break something _._

At least they beat the Ducks.

To make things worse, even when they finally get home, Auston winces his way through getting undressed after they beat Vegas. It’s bad enough that Freddie corners him once he’s got his shoulder pads off, Auston shirtless and flushed, either from discomfort or exertion still.

“You need to see the trainer,” Freddie says, voice low. “I know you didn’t feel well last game either. Don’t bullshit me,” he adds when Auston opens his mouth.

Auston snaps his mouth shut. “I’m fine,” Auston insists, reaching out to shove at Freddie. He barely gets his hand on him, applying the tiniest bit of pressure, and he’s gasping, sucking in air through his teeth.

“Auston, Jesus,” Freddie says, and steadies him. He’s aware of the way the rest of the team is looking away now, giving them space, almost deliberate. 

“Go,” he says, in a voice that leaves no room for debate. “I’ll take you home after.”

Auston comes out to the empty locker room half an hour later, looking so dejected Freddie wants to wrap him up in a hug.

“My shoulder,” Auston says, before Freddie can even ask.

“Is it—” Freddie swallows, afraid to finish the question. _Is it bad,_ he wants to say, but he’s absolutely terrified of the answer.

Auston shakes his head. “Just a few games,” he says. “It’s a muscle thing. They’re not worried.”

He looks up at Freddie, and at whatever must be written all over his face. “Hey, _I’m_ not worried, okay? It sucks, but it’s fine. Don’t worry,” he says, and waits for Freddie to relax. _He’s fine,_ Freddie thinks. _He’s okay,_ he repeats, over and over, until it grounds him. 

“Drive me home now?” Auston asks, soft. 

“Okay,” Freddie says, and pulls him gently into his arms. 

——————

True to form, Auston mopes around pretty hard the next day, enough that Freddie almost wants to go home because it feels like Auston’s sucking the happiness out of him. 

And Freddie’s not trying to baby him or anything, but if Auston tries to do something that strains his shoulder one more time Freddie’s gonna lock him in his room until tomorrow morning. 

“I hate this,” Auston says miserably, the fourth time Freddie has to grab something off the top shelf in the pantry for him. 

“I know,” Freddie says. “Have you talked to Mike yet?”

Auston furrows his brow as he extracts a cookie from the container Freddie hands him. 

“No.” He takes a bite. “About what?”

“Maybe you can come to the game tomorrow,” Freddie says. “Just sit in the press box, or something. I know you hate being here alone.”

“Oh,” Auston says, brightening. He stuffs the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “I’m gonna call him now,” words almost unintelligible.

Freddie orders from Skip the Dishes while Auston ducks into his room on the phone, deciding on Thai. He’s just getting around to finishing up the order when Auston comes back in, a visible bounce in his step. 

“Yes?” Freddie asks, and Auston’s grin is blinding when he nods. 

“Awesome,” Freddie says, and pats the spot next to him on the couch, smiling back at him when Auston settles in.

——————

Freddie has to head to morning skate the next day, so he rolls out of bed and leaves Auston to sleep in.

“I’ll be back at 4:30,” Freddie says, flicking Auston’s forehead. “Be ready to go by then.”

“I _will,_ ” Auston grumbles, burrowing back under the blankets. “Asshole.”

Sure enough, Auston is decidedly not ready at 4:30. 

“I’m running late,” Auston says over the phone. “Come up. I need your help. I unlocked the door for you.”

It turns out Auston can’t get his dress shirt on, because it pulls at his shoulder and it hurts a little. It’s a valid excuse, and Freddie feels a little bad for him, so he doesn’t chirp him. Freddie has to do up the buttons too, a task that feels way more intimate than it should. 

“Pink tie,” Auston says once he’s done, and points at the one laid across the bed. 

Freddie grabs it and lets it run through his fingers, before stepping closer to Auston and looping it around his neck.

He stays focused on the fabric, making sure he’s tying the right knots. When he tears his gaze away from the tie, he’s surprised to see Auston looking right up at him, gaze intense. This close, Freddie can feel Auston’s breath warm against his skin, and is mesmerized by the look in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna tighten it now,” Freddie says, and his voice is hoarse. “Tell me when.”

“‘Kay,” Auston says, quiet. 

Freddie wraps his fingers around the tie, and his other hand pushes the knot up, slowly. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Auston’s breaths come shallower as he moves closer to Auston’s neck, or the way he keeps swallowing hard as the knot comes to rest at the base of his throat. 

Auston tilts his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, and now it’s Freddie’s turn to swallow, still staring right into Auston’s eyes.

Freddie feels his knuckles graze the bare skin of Auston’s throat and stops, letting his hand rest there.

“This good?” Freddie asks, and Auston blinks at him, as if he forgot what was happening in the moment. 

“Oh,” Auston says. “Um, yeah.” Freddie can feel the way Auston swallows again, pressing his hand just a little bit harder against him.

And then they stand there, eyes locked, Freddie’s hand against the scorching skin of Auston’s throat. He’s still holding onto the tie, and he doesn’t want to let go. It would be so easy, right now, to pull Auston in, and kiss him. To have Auston like this, obedient and quiet, seems almost too good to be true.

“We’re gonna be late,” Freddie says, shaking his head, and the moment breaks. Forcing himself to step back is like moving through molasses, every movement slow and heavy. “Jacket?” 

“Yeah,” Auston says, a little dazedly, and steps into it when Freddie holds it open. 

The drive to the rink is uncharacteristically quiet, and Auston doesn’t mess with the radio once, which is unusual as well. 

“Good luck,” Auston says when they get inside. “You’re great. You’re money.” His mouth quirks up in a tiny smile at the words, and the tension from the ride bleeds out of Freddie. And then he’s gone, into the trainers room, and Freddie has a game to get ready for. 

——————

Auston’s back to his normal self by the time the game ends, striding into the locker room two steps behind Babs with a smile stretched across his face, a water bottle in his hands. 

“Cees, what a goal!” Auston calls, hand cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice, not that he needs it. “Game winner, baby!” 

Freddie starts stripping, smiling helplessly at the way Auston’s buzzing around the room, gesturing animatedly with his good arm. He seems okay then, whatever mood he was in this afternoon gone, though Freddie is a little bit reluctant to label that a good thing. Freddie faces his stall, tugging his Under Armour over his head.

“And of course,” Auston says from behind him. “How could I forget. The man of the hour!”

Freddie turns around, laughing.

“Look at you,” Auston says, then does exactly that, giving his bare torso a pretty blatant onceover. “Big game for the big guy.”

Freddie rolls his eyes. “Thanks, man. Lemme get undressed real quick, though.”

Before he can sit down though, Auston grabs his forearm, and steps closer.

“That save in the third, holy shit,” he says. “That was hot.” 

Freddie can feel himself blush immediately, cursing his fair skin. 

“You’re definitely gonna get some tonight,” Auston says, not nearly quiet enough considering the coaches are still in the room. 

Freddie shushes him furiously, half out of embarrassment and half due to something else entirely that he does not want to examine right now.

“Sorry,” Auston says, but throws himself half onto Freddie in a weird, lopsided hug, and clearly feels no remorse. “Just wondering if you’re gonna get your dick sucked tonight or what.”

“Jesus, Matts,” Freddie says, exasperated. Auston’s still draped all over him, like they’re not very much in public right now, grinning as if he’s feeding off of Freddie’s annoyance and embarrassment. If previous experience has taught Freddie anything, Auston probably is, honestly. 

“Can you behave just once?” Freddie asks, trying to shrug Auston off his shoulder. 

“Maybe,” Auston sing songs, and his smile turns into something else, something knowing that Freddie can’t quite read. 

Freddie opens his mouth to say something, still annoyed as ever. But Auston moves first, leaning up on his toes and pressing impossibly closer. 

“Why don’t you make me,” he says, quiet and teasing, directly into Freddie’s ear. Freddie can’t even move, can barely breathe as Auston grazes his teeth along the shell of his ear. And then as quickly as it happened, Auston’s gone, bounding off across the room and calling for Mitch. 

Freddie stands there, still dumbfounded, until Mac claps him on the shoulder to congratulate him on the win.

——————

After the game, a couple of the single guys go out for drink to celebrate, and Auston tags along.

“You should be resting,” Freddie says when Auston wraps his arms around him from behind.

“He doesn’t need it,” Willie chirps. “He didn’t even play. Let him get sloppy drunk again, but I’m not holding his hair back when he pukes.” 

“Hey,” Auston says mildly. “I’d hit you, but I’m resting my shoulder. Someone get me a drink, I’m resting my shoulder. Also someone take my coat. Resting.”

“I’ll grab you a drink,” Mo says, rolling his eyes but getting up from the table anyway. The rest of the guys scatter too, leaving just Freddie and Auston at the booth.

“You know what I like,” Auston calls, blowing a kiss after Mo. 

Auston turns to him, grin wicked. “So,” he drawls. “Who’s the lucky lady gonna be tonight?” He cocks his head, making like he’s scanning the crowd. 

_You,_ Freddie thinks. 

“No one.” Freddie bats Auston’s hand away gently where it’s coming to poke at his side. 

“Oh come on,” Auston wheedles, pressing closer to Freddie. His hand comes to land high on Freddie’s thigh. He squeezes, just once. “You could have anyone. That dub means _everyone_ wants on your dick tonight and you know it.”

Sure, it’s probably true, but Freddie doesn’t want anyone else, not when Auston’s right here, hand inching higher and higher on his leg. Auston, who’s oblivious as ever, annoying as ever, completely unaware of what he’s doing to Freddie. And for some reason, that thought pisses him off.

“Seriously, Auston,” Freddie says, prying Auston’s hand off gently. “That’s enough.”

“You haven’t picked up in so long, though,” Auston points out, flexing his wrist in Freddie’s grip, but doesn’t pull away. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” And Freddie wants to laugh, though there’s no humor in the situation. Just pure fucking irony. 

Auston licks his lips, almost deliberately. Freddie can’t look away. 

“It must suck,” he continues. “This dry spell. I mean, don’t you want to? Take someone home, get them under you, fuck them hard, finally c—”

“Stop,” Freddie snaps, finally, a real edge to his voice, grip tightening on Auston’s wrist. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Auston today, what’s compelling him to say these… _things,_ but he cannot deal with him like this for another second. 

He expects Auston to be as bratty as he always is, to squirm, fight his way out of Freddie’s hold and snark back at him. Instead, Auston goes completely still, eyes wide and round as he stares at Freddie. He closes his mouth, like the words have been knocked out of him.

Freddie is stunned silent for a few moments too, and they sit there, breathing at each other heavily, eyes locked. Freddie makes no move to loosen his grip.

“Freddie,“ Auston says, breathy, and he leans in, almost unconsciously, and Freddie thinks, Freddie _wants—_

“Uh, guys?” Mo’s looking at them, confused, and holding drinks in his hands. His presence snaps Freddie out of it, and he pulls his hand back from Auston’s wrist so fast it’s like he’s been burned. 

“I’m gonna go,” Auston says abruptly, bright red. He ducks out of the booth, very deliberately not making eye contact with either of them. Freddie zeroes in on the way he rubs at his wrist as he stands, and he wonders just how tightly he’d been holding on. If it hurt. If Auston liked it.

Maybe he left a bruise. He hopes he did.

Mo slips into Auston’s vacated spot, the same curious expression on his face as he slides a drink over. 

“This was supposed to be for Auston,” Mo shrugs as Freddie eyes the drink. “Yours now, I guess.”

Freddie takes a sip of it, and is instantly hit by how sugary sweet it is. _Of course_ , he thinks, a little bit hysterically without really knowing why. _Of course Auston likes the sweet ones_. He’s trying his best to be calm in front of Mo, to not give anything away, but it’s getting harder the more the wheels in his head turn.

Mo starts talking, and Freddie picks up his drink again, nodding along. He’s not listening at all, though, thinking about Auston instead. The dark look in his eyes, his shallow breaths as he made no move to free his wrist from Freddie’s grasp. The way he reacted so quickly and listened so beautifully when Freddie made it clear he wasn’t messing around anymore. The way he was so… _good._

Freddie doesn’t get it quite yet, but the pieces are starting to fall into place. 

——————

By the time he gets back home that night, he’s exhausted but no less keyed up than he was at the bar. He feels shaky, off kilter as he gets ready for bed.

He doesn’t understand the play here with Auston. He feels like he hasn’t for a while now, not since Auston deliberately cockblocked him this summer with no explanation, then proceeded to act like a child the second they got to Toronto.

And the things he was saying today— _Jesus._

The way he was talking tonight, like he knew what Freddie was thinking, like he was into it— it made Freddie want him so much more. He knows Auston was probably just teasing, because he also knows Auston’s never been with a guy (Auston’s nothing if not a oversharer). 

So he’s never been with a guy, but maybe he’d let Freddie. Freddie goes hot all over just imagining it. Would he lie back and take it, relaxed and pliant and beautiful? Or would he make Freddie work for it, push back and squirm, all smirks and roaming hands, infuriating and hot all at once? What would he sound like when Freddie got his fingers in him for the first time? Or stretched around Freddie’s cock? And would he let Freddie kiss him during, or hold him after? 

Freddie would bet that Auston would stop at nothing to frustrate him, and Freddie would be forced to grab him again. Hold him down, put him where he wants him. 

Freddie groans, kicking off his boxers and getting a hand on himself desperately. He comes harder than he has in a long time, thinking about nothing but Auston’s wry smile, his mouth, his clever hands, Auston, Auston, Auston.

———————

Freddie hasn’t stopped thinking about it the next day. It’s in the back of his head all morning, the same way Auston seems to still be underfoot, next to him, in his notifications from the time he wakes up to the time he gets on the ice for practice. 

“Hi,” Auston catches Freddie as he’s walking towards the ice. Freddie eyes him, wary. He has no idea how this is going to go after whatever happened last night.

“I got cleared to skate today,” Auston exclaims, and Freddie blinks in surprise. Not what he was expecting, but amazing nonetheless. Auston looks excited. Hopeful, like he’s been waiting to tell Freddie this whole time.

“That’s sick,” Freddie says, reaching his glove out to give him a fist bump. “Joining us?”

“Yep. In a bit.”

“Alright.” Freddie nods. “See you out there.”

The guys all give stick taps when Auston gets out there, and Auston can’t contain his smile all practice. Freddie should feel fond, but instead he just feels sick. For once, Auston’s presence makes things undoubtedly worse, but still he’s thankful things aren’t any weirder because of last night.

In the end, Mo’s still Mo, and there’s no way he’s _not_ going to bring up what happened. 

“Lunch,” Mo declares to Freddie after morning skate. There’s no way out of it— Auston still has to stay late for PT, so Freddie can’t even use him as an excuse for once. Mo hangs around patiently the whole time, even as Freddie takes off his pads as slow as humanly possible, dreading the conversation ahead. 

“I’m driving,” Mo says, tossing his keys into the air and catching them.

“My car,“ Freddie starts to protest, but he knows it’s useless. Mo’s nothing if not persistent.

“I’ll drop you back here,” Mo insists. “Let’s go.”

Mo doesn’t beat around the bush when they get seated at the restaurant, not even waiting a second after they order before staring Freddie down. He’s not even pretending this isn’t an interrogation anymore, then.

“So you and Auston,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Freddie says, impassive.

“It’s true!” He defends, when Mo raises and eyebrow at him knowingly. And it is, because maybe that’s the fucking problem. “Nothing’s going on. Nothing’s happened.” 

“Well why not? Clearly you want something to.”

Freddie rubs at his face, then runs the hand through his hair. 

“It’s complicated. He’s complicated.” It sounds like such a cliche, and also like an excuse.

Mo flicks his straw wrapper, and it hits Freddie directly between the eyes. Freddie scowls at him. 

“I don’t think it’s as complicated as you think it is. Auston’s not smart enough for it to be,” Mo says, matter of fact.

“You don’t know that,” Freddie protests. “I don’t know what he wants. He drives me absolutely crazy, sometimes.”

Freddie pauses.

“All the time, actually. He’s _annoying_ , and always in my space, texting me and Snapchatting me nonstop. But he never listens to me. I feel like I’m _babysitting,_ sometimes. When you saw us that night, I just snapped. I just grabbed his hand to stop him. I didn’t know how else to deal. I don’t know what happened.”

Freddie lets out a breath, feeling lighter already now that he’s gotten it all out.

“He makes me feel so out of control,” he admits, and looks down at his hands.

“Well,” Mo says after a beat of silence. “You could always just stop hanging out with him so much. He’s got other friends, and so do you,” Mo points out.

The rational part of Freddie knows this. The other part of him is about ready to deck Mo for even suggesting that, and he’s not sure why. For all he complains about Auston, he’s starting to realize there’s a small part of him that _likes it_ , and it’s a little bit terrifying. 

“No,” Freddie says, decisive. “I can’t do that.” 

“Okay,” Mo says, surrendering. “It just sounds pretty simple to me, I dunno.”

“ _How_ ,” Freddie says, throwing his arms up and sitting back in his seat. 

“You want him around, but you want him to listen to you. I think he just wants you.” 

“Of course I want him to listen. That— this doesn’t make _sense,_ ” Freddie insists, but maybe it’s really starting to.

“You’re an idiot,” Mo says. Before Freddie can snap at him again, the waiter brings their pasta, and Freddie has to thank him, and pick up his fork.

“Just think about it,” Mo says through a mouthful of food. “It’s not hard.” 

——————

So Freddie thinks about it. He thinks about it on the ride back to the rink, then on the drive home, where he flicks on the radio like he never does, and it’s set to the rap station Auston put on a few days ago. He thinks about it in the elevator, scrolling through the stream of texts Auston’s sent him. Then he thinks about it as he lets himself into his apartment, walking past the hat Auston had left last week, and as he strips and climbs in bed for a nap. 

_I think he just wants you_ , Mo had said. And Freddie shakes his head, staring at the ceiling. If Auston wanted Freddie, there would be no reason for him to act out and pester, not when Freddie’s always been right here. He thinks about all the times Auston’s been purposefully difficult, going out of his way to make Freddie’s life harder, but also how different he had acted when Freddie put his hands on him, under Freddie’s heavy gaze and grip.

And then it hits him.

Auston does want him. He wants all of him, and that includes his attention. His undivided attention. And the simplest way he knows how to get it is to push for it. Auston won’t stop until Freddie gives it to him. Until Freddie makes him.

Freddie rolls over, grabbing his phone.

 _Come over tonight,_ he texts.

 _Why,_ is Auston’s immediate response. _Maybe I have plans._

 _Cancel them then,_ Freddie types. _Come over._

There’s a pause, the little gray typing bubble popping up and disappearing a few times. 

_Ok,_ Auston says, finally, and Freddie lets out a breath of relief, and turns over to go to sleep.

——————

Auston shows up at his door that night, and Freddie lets him in. Auston’s practically bouncing on his toes, as if he’s excited by the prospect of just being around Freddie. It makes him feel warm to think about. 

“I’m making dinner,” Freddie says, and turns to go back to the kitchen.

“Cool,” Auston says, trailing after him, so close his fingertips graze back of Freddie’s shirt. “I’ll help.”

Freddie shoots him a look, skeptical. 

“You mean you’re gonna stand around the kitchen and take up space while I do all the work.”

Auston smiles, leaning against the counter. “No, I’ll help.” He cocks his head, then says, purposefully, “Just tell me what to do.” 

Freddie’s mouth feels dry, watching Auston look at him like this, a little sly, and hearing him say things like that so easily like it’s nothing. He realizes then that Auston’s been honest this whole time, and it’s only that Freddie never knew what to look for. 

He clears his throat. “Right. Why don’t you get started on the rice?” 

As expected, Auston is nothing short of infuriating the entire process, somehow perpetually in Freddie’s way. 

“I don’t know how to wash rice,” Auston says, so Freddie has to do it.

“Oops,” Auston says, later, pressing fingers into Freddie’s spine as he slides past, looking for another knife, because the one Freddie handed him “doesn’t work”, apparently. He hasn’t yet cut up any of the peppers Freddie handed him.

Then, Auston squeezes between Freddie and the counter, reaching for the spices in the upper cabinet. 

Auston turns, until they’re pressed chest to chest. He’s smiling, and Freddie wants to kiss that perfect smile right off his face.

“What are you doing?” Freddie asks, arms coming up to the counter to bracket Auston in on either side of him. 

From this angle, Auston’s trapped. Freddie’s bigger than him, stronger, too, and he’s got him caged in. Freddie looks down, only to find Auston’s unwavering gaze still on him, eyes shining in amusement.

“Grabbing salt,” he says, waving the salt shaker in front of Freddie’s face. 

“You don’t need salt to cut bell peppers,” Freddie says, pressing closer until they’re chest to chest. 

“My bad,” Auston says smoothly, and smiles wider. 

“You’re not helping,” Freddie says. “So what are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Auston asks, tilting his chin up, bold as ever. 

Freddie doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes in Auston’s stance, the open look on his face, and just leans in, inch by inch. Auston’s eyes flick down to Freddie’s mouth. Freddie’s so close they’re pretty much sharing breath, noses nearly brushing. 

Then, at the last second, Auston turns, ducking under Freddie’s left arm, and Freddie stumbles, arm shooting out to brace himself as he’s suddenly bracketing nothing but air. 

“We’re supposed to be cooking,” Auston says, still as cheery as he was before, like nothing happened. “I’m hungry. Chop chop.”

Freddie stares at the toaster and blinks a few times. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

——————

Despite whatever just happened, dinner turns out good. Freddie makes salmon, Auston figures out the rice, and they have sauteed vegetables on the side. Auston pretty much inhales it; Freddie guesses he wasn’t actually lying about being hungry. 

Auston rambles through all of dinner in between bites, then excuses himself to the living room as soon as he’s done. 

“Take your plate to the sink,” Freddie says.

“Okay, mom,” Auston says, voice dripping with sarcasm, but does so anyway, much to Freddie’s surprise. 

Freddie finishes up quickly, not eager to leave Auston in any part of his house alone at this point. 

Auston’s slouched on the sofa, fingers flying across the screen of his phone, and Freddie settles in next to him. 

“Auston,” Freddie says. Auston doesn’t even look up. 

He clears his throat. “Auston,” he tries again, voice firmer. Auston looks up this time, and raises one eyebrow. 

“What,” Auston says. 

“We need to talk,” Freddie says, keeping the same tone of voice. 

Auston’s eyes widen, and he looks around nervously, putting his phone down. 

“About what?” he asks, trying to seem casual. But he seems to know Freddie’s onto him now, and it’s not working.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Freddie says.

“Maybe,” Auston says, defiant, but he’s not denying it.

“You’ve been bugging me, touching me, driving me insane, flirting,” Freddie presses on, and this time, Auston doesn’t say anything.

“At first, I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why someone I was such good friends with would suddenly try and make my life so hard. But then—” 

Freddie studies Auston, the slowly, as not to startle him, brings his hand up to Auston’s jaw, cupping it gently. 

Auston sucks in a breath at the contact. His cheeks are warm.

“Then I got it.” Freddie pauses, and lets the moment hang. The anticipation build.

“You want me,” Freddie says.

“Yes,” Auston breathes. 

“You want my attention. You want me to tell you what to do. You want to be good for me. You want me to make you.”

“Yes. Yes, yes,” Auston whispers, closing his eyes.

“I got you,” Freddie says, just as quiet. He runs a thumb along Auston’s cheekbone, down to the corner of his mouth, and finally, _finally,_ Freddie kisses him. 

Auston gasps, going boneless in Freddie’s grasp, and then it’s like a dam breaks. Freddie feels frantic with it, getting hands under Auston’s shirt and rucking it up, up, _off._ He kisses Auston harder once he’s shirtless, running hands down Auston sides and up his back and kissing him and kissing him like he can’t stop. Like he’s never wanted anything else in his life.

“Freddie,” Auston gasps, pulling apart and breaking off for air. Freddie trails after him, nipping at his throat, thumbs brushing gently over Auston’s nipples and making him squirm.

Freddie pulls Auston into his lap, still in his sweats, and he loops his arm around Freddie’s shoulders. Every time Freddie adjusts his grip on Auston’s ass, he shifts, letting out a whimper each time there’s pressure on his cock.

“You’re such a brat,” Freddie says. “I can’t believe I didn’t get it.”

“I’ve been—“ Auston gasps as Freddie pulls him closer, his dick pressed even harder to Freddie’s hip. “I’ve been waiting. _Shit_. Since summer.” 

“I know,” Freddie says. “I figured it out. You didn’t hook up ‘cause you were waiting for me.” Freddie doesn’t mention that, yeah, _same_ , just in a less conscious way. He’s always been drawn to Auston, and he hasn’t realized until now.

“Took you— took you long enough,” Auston chirps weakly, then gasps as Freddie slides his hands down the back of his pants.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, uh,” Auston bites his lip, shifting closer. “I don’t know, fuck. Anything, Freddie. Anything.”

“Baby,” Freddie murmurs, low. Auston shivers, shutting his eyes. “You would do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?” 

Freddie watches in awe as Auston turns red, blush spreading like wildfire from his cheeks down his bare chest. Almost like he can’t stand it, Auston tucks his face into Freddie’s neck, embarrassed. 

“Hey,” Freddie says, running a hand up the length of Auston’s back until he can grip his hair, tugging his head back. “Look at me.” He keeps his voice gentle, but even he can hear how rough it is already. 

Auston’s panting now, still hard as ever, and they’ve barely gotten started. When Auston opens his eyes, throat exposed and cheeks flushed, his pupils are huge.

“Yeah,” Auston says, voice barely a whisper. Freddie watches the line of his throat as he swallows, taking a deep breath. 

“Anything you want, Fred. _Please—_ “ His voice breaks.

“Okay, okay,” Freddie says, placating, and has to reel him in and kiss him again.

He kisses him long and slow until Auston’s groaning against his mouth, hands scrabbling at Freddie’s shoulders when Freddie pulls back. His mouth is swollen, eyes and hair wild. He looks as desperate as Freddie feels.

Freddie puts a hand to his throat. Auston goes pliant in a second, arching into the touch. Freddie looks back at his bruised mouth, and moves his hand to put two fingers against Auston’s lips. 

“Aus,” Freddie says hungrily as Auston opens his mouth easily, sucking them in, swirling his tongue around the pads. His eyes go half lidded again, like he _loves this_ , and Freddie’s suddenly so hard he’s dizzy with it.

“Let me fuck you,” Freddie says, hoping his voice doesn’t carry the same desperation he feels. Auston said anything, and it’s blindingly clear to him that he wants nothing more than Auston under him, around him, the bone deep satisfaction of having him in that way. To be the first to do so. To be the only one.

Auston whines around his fingers, only getting louder as Freddie pushes his fingers deeper, sliding along his tongue. 

Freddie extracts his hand, running wet fingers down Auston’s chin and grips it with his hand, tipping his flushed face up. Auston’s eyes fly open, grip tightening on Freddie’s shoulders. 

“Let me,” Freddie whispers. 

There’s a moment of silence, just them breathing hard, and Freddie’s stomach drops a little, thinking he’s overstepped.

But then— “Okay,” Auston breathes. “Whatever you want.”

It’s Freddie’s turn to swallow.

——————

Freddie takes Auston to his room, and spreads him out on his sheets. He takes his time to look at the expanse of skin, flushed from arousal, covered in a fine sheen of sweat already. It gives him a heady rush of power, and settles something in him at the same time.

“Freddie, Fred—“ Auston says, breathless. He shifts, restless under Freddie’s gaze, hands reaching out and up for him, desperate for contact.

“Hey,” Freddie murmurs, ducking his head to run the tip of his nose along the cut of Auston’s jaw and up to his ear. “I got you. Relax.”

“I can’t,” Auston whines. “Freddie, I _can’t—“_

He cuts himself off with a gasp as Freddie sets his teeth in at the sensitive skin high up at the hinge of his jaw, sucking hard. Freddie thinks about the club, his wrist, and viciously hopes there’s a bruise so dark no one can miss it. 

“I’m gonna blow you,” Freddie says, working his way over to Auston’s mouth, and catches his lips in a bruising kiss. “You’re gonna come like that, and I’m gonna fuck you. Okay?”

Auston nods furitively, hands coming, pawing at his stomach and up his chest. 

Freddie kisses him again, softer this time, until Auston melts under him, and sighs when Freddie pulls away. He slides down, positioning himself comfortably between Auston’s legs, running his hands up his thighs. 

He leans in, and fits his mouth high up on the inside of Auston’s thigh, biting down.

Auston jerks, hard, letting out a high noise. 

“F— fuck, oh my god,” he pants, head tossed back on the pillow. When Freddie does it again, leaving an identical mark half an inch higher, Auston’s hands come down to tangle in his hair. 

Auston’s grip tightens, hips coming off the bed, and Freddie’s really starting to worry about the state of his scalp at this point, as it’s really starting to sting.

He pulls off, looking up at Auston, who’s staring down at him with dark eyes. 

“No, no,” Auston pleads, trying to push Freddie’s head back down, as if that isn’t super rude. “Don’t stop.”

Freddie ignores him, and gently pries Auston’s fingers from his hair, pushing them down to the bed by his sides.

“Can you keep your hands above your head for me?” He asks, running his hands up Auston’s sides, watching as he shivers. 

Auston pouts, squirming, hands coming back down to rest on Freddie’s cheeks, thumb brushing against his nose. It makes Freddie smile, which he has to bite back quickly or Auston’s sure to take advantage of it. 

“I don’t wanna,” Auston says, canting his hips up again. “Just touch me,” he demands.

“No,” Freddie says, dragging his lower lip along the crease of his thigh. Auston tenses, breath coming out shallow again. He drops his voice. “Put your hands above your head, Auston.”

“Oh fuck,” Auston breathes, and does what he’s told. 

It’s a fucking power trip like Freddie can’t even believe, Auston staring at him, stretched out on his bed, hands tangled in the sheets above his head. Not moving. Because Freddie told him to. 

Freddie sits up, and presses Auston’s wrists into the mattress. Auston shudders below him, and starts to shake as Freddie runs his thumbs across the thin, sensitive skin, these fine little tremors like he’s overwhelmed. Freddie kisses him to soothe him, because he gets it. He feels the same way. 

“Okay,” he says, just as quietly as before. “Don’t move.” He takes in Auston’s wide eyes as he slides back down so slow it must be torture for Auston, pressing wet kisses to his torso as he goes. 

When he finally gets down to Auston’s dick, he’s just as impatient as Auston at that point, and wastes no time getting it in his mouth. 

He starts off slow, just nursing the tip, teasing, until Auston’s breathing so fast it’s like he’s hyperventilating. 

Freddie glances up at Auston through his lashes, mouth still around his dick, and Auston moans desperately. Freddie pulls off, giving him a few strokes. He thinks about what he’s going to do, and smiles. 

He ducks back down, and slowly, slowly, eases his mouth down Auston’s dick, until he’s got him all the way in his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but it never stops being crazy hot every time.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Auston’s saying above him, voice shaky and broken. “Holy shit.” Freddie breathes through his nose and swallows. Auston makes a noise and spasms, suddenly, hips coming up off the bed, and Freddie chokes in surprise. 

“Auston,” Freddie says sharply when he pulls off, coughing. Auston freezes, guilty. “Don’t move, or I’m gonna have to stop.”

“No,” Auston says, sounding pained at the idea. “Please make me come, please. I’ll be good.”

Freddie has to close his eyes at that, overwhelmed. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on before in his _life_. 

When Freddie gets his mouth on Auston again, thumbs rubbing circles into Auston’s hips, he can feel the way Auston’s muscles are straining with the effort of holding himself perfectly still for Freddie. Freddie sinks down, holding himself there for a few seconds before coming back up and taking a breath, giving Auston a few strokes every time. He gets a rhythm going, easy.

“Fred,” Auston says, voice thin. “I’m gonna— can I, oh _god,_ can I come? Please. I need to—”

“Yeah,” Freddie gasps, rubbing his thumb across the head of his dick. Auston lets out a sob, and Freddie smiles. “Whenever you can.”

It’s not long. “Fred,” Auston says again, urgent this time, and comes, hot in Freddie’s mouth, shaking his way through it. 

Freddie tries to swallow, but it honestly feels like Auston comes forever. When he finally pulls off, sitting back on his heels, it’s messy, and he wipes a hand across the back of his mouth, then on the sheets. 

Auston’s out of it, eyes closed and chest heaving like he just took a two minute shift. His mouth is red, probably from the way he was biting it as Freddie sucked the life out of him through his dick. His hands are still above his head, and he still hasn’t moved, because Freddie hasn’t told him to. It’s the hottest thing Freddie’s ever seen, and he hasn’t even fucked him yet.

“Baby,” Freddie says gently, and smiles when Auston turns his head towards him, eyes opening blearily. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” Auston hums. “Can I move my hands?” 

“Sure,” Freddie says, and lets Auston run his fingers lazily up and down Freddie’s spine as they kiss, slow and hot enough to melt Freddie’s brain.

Eventually, Auston sighs against his mouth, and Freddie can feel him getting hard again against his thigh, and is also glaringly aware of his own erection. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Freddie says, and Auston moans, fingers tightening where he’s gripping Freddie’s arms. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“Okay,” Auston breathes. “Wait—”

Freddie stops.

“I’ve never—” Auston cuts himself off, embarrassed.

“I know,” Freddie soothes, cupping his cheek softly. “I’ll be careful.” 

“No, not that.” Auston shakes his head. “I just don’t _know_ ,” he says, then puts his arm over his eyes like he can’t finish the sentence.

“Oh,” Freddie says, realization dawning on him. “I’ll tell you what to do. All you have to do is do what I say, alright?” 

Auston makes a noise, and his dick twitches against Freddie’s thigh. 

“Shit,” Auston says, cheeks bright red. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Lie back for me,” Freddie says, “Careful of your shoulder.” Auston twists around, settling back against the pillow. Freddie leans over him, grabbing the lube and condoms from the table, tossing them off to the side. Auston watches his hands the whole time, sucking in a breath when he sees what’s in them. 

“You can touch,” Freddie says, and feels Auston’s hands come hesitantly to his shoulders as Freddie pushes his legs up and out.

Freddie rubs his thumb against Auston’s hole, dry, cataloguing the way Auston tenses and shifts, like he isn’t sure if he likes it. 

“Relax,” Freddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of Auston’s knee. He reaches for the lube with his free hand, popping the cap one handed and keeps the other pressed to Auston, letting him get used to the feeling. 

Rubbing the lube between his fingers, Freddie warms it up, before replacing his thumb with his index finger, wet.

“If you want me to stop, tell me, okay?” Freddie asks. 

“I’ll be fine, I’m not gonna break,” Auston says, offended.

“Auston,” Freddie says.

“Yeah, okay,” Auston replies, serious this time.

Freddie pushes, until the tip of his finger slips inside Auston, and he slides it in, slow.

Auston makes a _noise_ , loud and uncontrolled, like it was forced out of him, and clenches down, hard.

“Is this okay?” Freddie asks.

“I’m—” Auston shifts. “Fuck,” he says on an exhale, and Freddie can feel him trying to relax around his finger.

“Auston,” Freddie says again. 

“I think so,” Auston says. “Just— can you go slow?”

“Of course,” Freddie says, leaning up to press a kiss to the taut muscles of Auston’s stomach. 

Freddie moves his finger, in and out, until Auston feels looser around him.

“I’m gonna give you another, okay?” he asks, and Auston nods, breaths coming quickly in anticipation.

He gets a second finger in a lot quicker than the first, though it’s a bit of a stretch, scissoring them a little just to hear Auston keen.

“Good?” Freddie checks.

“Obviously,” Auston snarks, in typical Auston fashion. _Fine_ , Freddie thinks, if he wants to be like that— Freddie drags his fingers out, pushes them back in, and curls them until he finds that spot—

“Oh _fuck,_ fuck fuck fuck _,_ ” Auston gasps, voice high and breathy, bucking up so hard Freddie has to hold him down with a forearm across his hips so he doesn’t break Freddie’s fingers.

“Good?” Freddie asks again, fingers pressing at his prostate again, staring as Auston jerks again.

“I’d kick you,” Auston says, breathless, “but my legs feel like jello.”

Freddie muffles a laugh against Auston’s hipbone, but Auston hears it anyway, and bristles.

“Stop laughing at me and _fuck me_ ,” he says, and Freddie pinches him in retaliation, before setting a rhythm with his fingers. 

Freddie waits until Auston’s breathing is getting high again, coming fast and shallow.

“One more,” Freddie says, nudging the tip of his ring finger against Auston’s rim. 

“I’m ready,” Auston insists. “Your dick’s not that big,” he adds.

Freddie bites him gently for that. “Not true,” he says, and Auston huffs.

He pushes the third finger in, spreading them slowly until Auston’s panting. 

“Please,” Auston begs. “Please fuck me. Fuck me, Freddie.” 

Freddie gives it a few more minutes, then runs his pinky along Auston’s rim just to tease. Auston tosses his head back when Freddie curls his fingers one last time, before pulling out. 

Freddie tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth, rolling it on quickly. He presses his palms to Auston’s thick thighs, spreading them wider to make room for himself.

“Okay?” He asks, one last time.

Auston bites his lip, like he’s nervous, but nods. 

“I’ll go slow,” Freddie promises, and hooks one of Auston’s legs over his arm, watching as Auston closes his eyes.

“C’mon, Freddie,” he says, quiet. “Fuck me.” 

That’s all the affirmation he needs. Freddie moves, one hand on Auston’s hip as he guides himself to Auston’s hole, pushing a little harder than he thinks he needs to, until he fits the tip in. Despite the prep, Auston’s still impossibly tight around him, clenching down hard at the intrusion.

Auston makes a noise high in his throat, fingers slipping against the sheets.

“Freddie,” he cries, voice cracking.

Freddie goes cold all over, stopping instantly. 

“Auston,” he bites out, and it takes all his willpower not to move at all, Auston all tight heat around him. “Do you want me to stop?”

Auston shakes his head, and doesn’t say anything, just turns his palm up towards the ceiling, fingers flexing. Fred doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers through Auston’s, feeling comforted by the way Auston squeezes, just once. 

“Auston,” Freddie says again, keeping his voice steady. “You need to talk to me. I need to know what’s wrong.”

At the tone of Freddie’s voice, Auston’s eyes open, and they’re huge and watery, so wide as he looks up at Freddie, and no— that’s it. 

“I’m gonna pull out,” Freddie says. “We can stop.”

“No, no, no,” Auston says. “Just, give me a second. Don’t move.”

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Freddie says, staying put, and pushing his other hand through Auston’s damp hair. Auston pushes into the touch. 

“‘It’s just,” Auston says, “It’s a lot.” His eyes are still shut but his is expression relaxing, bit by bit. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Not— no,” Auston says, and squeezes Freddie’s hand again. Freddie runs a hand up Auston’s side in an attempt to get him to relax, a trail of goosebumps following it as Auston shivers.

“You can,” Auston says, after what feels like _hours_ to Freddie, lifting his hips a little. 

Freddie obliges, pushing in a little deeper, bit by bit until he bottoms out, hips flush against Auston’s ass. As he moves, Auston’s grip on his fingers gets tighter, until he’s squeezing so hard Freddie’s fingers feel like they’re losing circulation. 

“Fuck, Matts,” Freddie says, letting Auston’s leg fall from his shoulder as he leans in, holding himself up with his elbow next to Auston’s head. “You feel so good,” he says, overwhelmed.

“Give me a second,” Auston says, sounding dazed, shifting below him, clenching around him in waves. It feels like torture to Freddie— he’s barely gotten inside him but he doesn’t think he’s had sex this intense before, ever.

“Okay,” Auston says slowly, breathing out harshly through his nose. “You can move, Freddie. _Please_ , move.”

Freddie pulls almost all the way out, slowly, before thrusting back in, trying to find the right angle, but it’s not working. Freddie growls, frustrated, and gets a hand under Auston’s lower back, hitching him up easily and changing the angle.

Auston says something garbled, words slurring. Freddie pushes up on his knees, and slides back into him, and Auston arches up again, saying his name so loudly it sounds like it’s been punched out of him. Freddie takes a moment to spare a thought for his poor neighbors, but then Auston says his name again, desperate, and it wipes all coherent thought from Freddie’s brain.

“You’re so fucking hot, Auston—” Freddie says, pressing a kiss to the side of Auston’s neck. “You’re so— god, you’re so good. You take it so well,” he says into Auston’s ear, voice low, and Auston cries out, almost like a sob.

He gets a rhythm going, pressed so close to Auston it must be hard for Auston to breathe, kissing him sloppily as he fucks him. Auston keeps making these noises, little _uh, uh, uh’s,_ that are driving him insane, and when Freddie brackets Auston under him with both arms it makes him feel huge. Auston’s too far gone, at this point, to really kiss him back, so it’s more of them just breathing into each others’ mouths, which is fine. Just the feeling of Auston, everywhere, is more than enough.

“You close?” he pants, reaching between them to get one hand on Auston’s dick, wanting to get him off for the second time tonight. Freddie thinks, absently, that one day he’d like to see how many times Auston can come for him, if Freddie asked him to.

Auston nods, frantic, and Freddie snaps his attention back to the present. 

And he’s not lying, because all it takes is a few strokes and Freddie biting down hard at the base of his throat, and Auston’s coming so hard he’s barely coherent, shaking through the whole thing and shooting all over Freddie’s hand and streaking his chest.

Freddie slows his thrusts then, bit by bit, as Auston’s hole ripples around him, clenching with aftershocks in a way that can’t feel good.

“I’m gonna pull out,” Freddie says. Auston nods in response, eyes closed and breathing hard, and Freddie’s not sure Auston’s really listening at all.

“It’s not gonna feel good,” he warns, as he slides out, stripping the condom and tying it off. Auston sucks in a breath, more of a moan of discomfort, and reaches up for Freddie. Freddie leans down, letting Auston wrap his arms around his neck, and presses his nose to the side of Auston’s face. 

“Wanna get you off,” Auston says, but his words come out so lethargically Freddie knows it won’t be good.

“I got it,” Freddie says, untangling himself from Auston’s grip. “Just stay there and look pretty.”

“‘Kay,” Auston sighs, body sinking into the sheets. 

Freddie gets a hand around himself, knee walking over and straddling him, stripping his dick. Auston looks up at him, chewing on his lip, eyes round and trusting, and that— that’s what does it. The sight of Auston, usually bratty, irritating, infuriating, now fucked out under him, doing exactly what Freddie said— Freddie comes so hard he honestly blacks out for a second.

When he comes to, he’s half on top of Auston. Auston’s eyes are closed, and they’re both still breathing hard, Auston, especially, a mess of spit and sweat and come. The best part, though, are the bruises, a line of them up the inside of Auston’s thigh, a few dotted along his collarbone, and the best one, dark and purple and huge, so high up on Auston’s neck no one’s going to miss it.

“I think you killed me,” Freddie murmurs, brushing Auston’s damp hair out of his face. 

Auston just makes a tiny noise in response, mostly asleep already, and Freddie feels a fond smile tugging at his lips. He’s a goner, for Auston, that’s for sure.

Freddie stretches, feeling his back pop as he stands up and heads to the bathroom on wobbly legs. He grabs a washcloth, cleaning himself off before wetting and extra one heading back into the bedroom for Auston. He makes sure to be gentle, wiping his chest, his legs, his hole, puffy and pink. Then he takes the extra, and runs it softly across Auston’s face.

Auston doesn’t even stir, and Freddie tosses both towels towards the laundry hamper before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of Auston’s mouth. 

They sleep like that, Freddie curled around Auston, limp and exhausted in his arms.

——————

Freddie wakes to his alarm, this time, Auston plastered to his side, sticky and still gross. They've got morning skate in three hours, and they still needs to shower and eat. 

Still, it’s the best morning he’s had in a long, long time. 

Freddie turns, angling his head down so he can kiss Auston awake, morning breath and all. 

Auston wakes slowly, blinking up at Freddie, a little disoriented. When he realizes where he is, Auston breaks out into a sleepy grin. 

“Hi,” Auston says, and reaches up so he can pull Freddie down with a hand on the back of his neck and kiss him again.”

“How’re you feeling?” Freddie asks, voice still scratchy from disuse. 

“Good,” Auston says, stretching, and Freddie’s mouth goes dry at the sight of Auston’s abs. It’s too fucking early for this, he scolds himself. “Sore,” he says, after a pause, and rolls his eyes at Freddie’s self satisfied smirk. 

“Shoulder?”

“Fine,” Auston says, rolling it a little bit.

“I’m glad,” Freddie says, and ducks down to kiss Auston’s jaw. 

“Damn,” Auston says, wistfully. “If the first time was that good, imagine how mind blowing the sex is gonna be once we start boning on the reg.”

Freddie makes a face. “You did not just say ‘boning on the reg.’”

“I did indeed,” Auston says, and snickers at Freddie’s disgusted expression.

“So you liked it?” Freddie asks. When Auston nods, he clarifies. “All of it, I mean. Like me telling you what to do, and all that stuff.”

“I came so hard I think I lost brain cells,” Auston says, dry. “I think it was obvious.”

“You need brain cells to play hockey,” Freddie reasons. “Maybe we should take it easy on the sex then.”

“ _Hell no,_ ” Auston says, digging his fingers into Freddie’s ribs. “We’re gonna try so much crazy shit. I’m a sex god in training, pretty much.”

Freddie laughs, startled by the sincerity in Auston’s voice.

“What kind of stuff?” He asks, amused.

“Whatever you’re into,” Auston says amiably, and reaches out to pull the covers higher over them both.

“So handcuffs? Toys? All kinds of kinky shit,” Freddie tries.

“Sure,” Auston agrees.

“You’re into that stuff?” Freddie asks, curious, grabbing for Auston’s hands. 

“I think I’m just into you,” Auston says, honest, and squeezes. Freddie honestly thinks he melts. 

“Lucky me,” Freddie says, and leans in to kiss Auston’s blinding smile.

——————

Unlike Freddie had originally thought, Auston doesn’t stop being irritating now that they’re having sex regularly, or even now that they’re together. 

(“Like together together?” Auston asked, eyes wide. 

“Yes, idiot,” Freddie said. “Of course.”)

Auston still fucks with the radio, all the time, until Freddie inevitably swats at his hand or snaps at him. Auston chirps Freddie relentlessly, to their teammates, the media, to Freddie’s face. Auston pokes at him, pinches him, whines, unrelenting, until Freddie puts down whatever he’s doing and pays attention to him.

When Freddie doesn’t reply to his Snapchats, no matter how many he sends, Auston always makes sure to be extra uncooperative during sex, until Freddie’s so sweet he can’t stand it anymore, and lets Freddie have him.

Auston has a stash of Freddie’s clothes now, all slightly big, and hides them so Freddie can’t steal them back when he comes over. Freddie seems to always be running out of clothes, but Auston is also always happy to accompany him on any shopping trip and tell him how big and handsome he looks in everything he tries on. 

But now, Freddie knows how to handle it. He can put a hand firmly on the back of Auston’s neck, and watch as he colors and his eyes go dark. He can tug gently on the hair on the back of Auston’s head, and watch as he goes loose and pliant in a second. And he can kiss him, whenever Auston’s talking just a little too much, until Auston’s starry-eyed and speechless.

So Auston’s still Auston, but he doesn’t hate it. Maybe he even loves it, a little bit. 


End file.
